


Of Hawks and SEALs

by Tyloric



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Be preapred for lots of humor and probably minimal angst, Copious amounts of head canon incoming, I can't tell if this is crack but it probably is, M/M, On Hiatus, The one where they're rookie SHIELD agents, There is also a distinct lack of super heroes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 01:21:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2210337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyloric/pseuds/Tyloric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Hawk, a SEAL, and a detective go in for secret ninja training. It’s like the start of a really bad joke that to Danny’s surprise actually ends up being pretty funny. How is this his life?</p><p> <i>“So if you kill me no one will ever find the body?”</i></p><p> <i>Steve mulls that over for a moment. “What body?”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been in the works for a literally two years and I come back to it every now and then. I recently saw it in my folders (I had forgotten about it) and as I was rereading it I thought of a better direction I might better be able to take the story in. This is my first proper AU fusion. Let's go on an adventure of no so epic proportions together. 
> 
> This is going to be a very light hearted and fun story. With that being said, enjoy!

Not for the first time today, Danny wonders what the hell he’s gotten himself into. He’s one of twelve recruits standing shoulder to shoulder in the middle of SHIELD HQ’s training room. It's an impressive set up, with various types of exercise equipment and weights dominating one half of the room with several sparring mats dominating the other. One of the men standing next to Danny is bouncing on his toes in what Danny assumes is some sort of warm up while the guy on his other side stands at ease.

Noticing Danny’s gaze, the calmer man lifts his chin in acknowledgement. “Steve McGarrett,” he says.

Danny tilts his head back a bit to look Steve in the eye because, wow, the guy is tall. “Danny Williams,” he replies.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

Steve grins, some of the tension in his shoulders coming loose. “So where’d they find you, Danny?”

“I’m a homicide detective.”

"Oh yeah?” Steve asks, sounding interested.

Danny puffs his chest out proudly. “Yeah, really. Apparently my impressive number of solved homicides attracted some attention,” he says with grandeur.

Steve tilts his head to the side. “How many murders have you worked?”

“Eighty-two.”

“And how many did you solve?”

“Eighty-two.”

“Huh. That’s... impressive?" He asks as if he’s not sure.

Danny snorts. “What about you? How’d you get dragged into this?”

Steve hesitates and stammers through a hasty reply, “I was a SEAL—am a SEAL. It’s complicated,” he finishes sullenly.

Before Danny can ask anything else a new voice interrupts his train of thought. “Alright gentlemen, eyes forward.”

Danny immediately recognizes Agent Sitwell staring at the group of recruits over the rim of his glasses, looking outstandingly irritated that he had to be here. Sitwell was the man who had recruited Danny.  Though in retrospect it was more like Sitwell had baited him.

It happened like this:

The agent had simply approached his desk at the precinct and handed Danny his card, saying, “If you’re ever looking for a change of scenery, give me a call.”

Turning away from his desk phone—with his ex-wife yelling at him on the other end of the line—Danny raised his eyebrows. “I’m sorry, who are you?” He had asked, bemused by the bald man in a cheap three piece suit who was addressing him.

“Jasper Sitwell.” And with that he walked away.

When Danny had started to research the name on the card—Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division and holy shit wasn’t that a mouth full—he hadn’t been able to dig up much information; only that it was a UN sanctioned and controlled branch of military that was stationed mainly in the US, but also had a presence in many other countries around the world.

But he was no idiot. It was clearly a black ops organization, and Danny said as much when his curiosity finally got the better of him and he broke down and called.

“You’re thinking too narrowly,” the agent said.  
  
“And what does that mean?”   
  
“It’s not so much black ops as it is things the world isn’t ready to know about yet.”

Danny huffed. “Yeah? Like what?”

“Aliens.”  
  
“Bullshit.”

Sitwell laughed, which was the first indication that the man actually had emotions. “I assure you it’s on the level. We also deal with world terrorist organizations, monsters hiding under the bed, rogue sorcerers, things like that.”

“Again, I call bullshit.”

“Maybe, but you haven’t actually said you don’t believe me.”

From that point on Danny had lost control of the conversation more and more until here he is, standing next to an apparently ‘it’s-complicated’ Navy SEAL while silently being judged by two men in suits in the middle of a super secret ninja factory—which, yes, is what he’s started referring to SHIELD as. Well, not really. But he probably should.

Whereas Sitwell looks like he doesn’t want to be here, the man next to him looks totally calm. He stands a little taller than Danny—and truth be told, who doesn’t? Danny is a small guy—with dark brown hair that was receding a bit and a patient smile that somehow makes him appear friendly, confident and terrifying all at the same time.   
  
“Gentlemen, I am Agent Coulson and this is Agent Sitwell,” Coulson says. “We will be supervising your assessments. Today is all about finding your strengths and weaknesses in hand-to-hand. We’re going to start by listing off your names and you will tell us what forms of hand-to-hand you are experienced with. Understood?”

There is a mixture of ‘yeah’ and ‘yes, sir’ in response. Coulson nods once at Sitwell, who produces a clipboard and pen.

“Barton,” Sitwell calls.

“Street fighting,” Barton responds down the line so Danny can’t get a good look at him without being obvious. “And circus performing,” he adds as an afterthought. His answer is met with a chorus of laughter and chuckles from seemingly everyone other than Danny and, surprisingly, Steve.

“Shut the hell up,” Sitwell snaps impatiently and the room immediately falls silent. Danny can’t help but be a little impressed with Sitwell’s natural aura of intimidation.

With a huff he continues calling names on his list, jotting down notes as they respond.  
  
“McGarrett.”   
  
Steve takes a deep breath, “SCARS, Judo, Brazilian Jiu-jitsu, Karate, Malla-yuddha Jarasandhi and kick boxing.”   
  
The room falls into a stunned silence and it’s Danny who breaks the tension. Without missing a beat he looks at Steve warily and asks, “What are you? A ninja?”

The corners of Steve’s mouth curl up slightly as he shrugs. “Among other things,” he says easily.

“So if you kill me no one will ever find the body?”  
  
Steve mulls that over for a moment. “What body?”

Down the line there is a sharp bark of laughter and a second later the rest of the group is laughing. Steve looks down at the source, grinning smugly. Danny just shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

When he looks back Agent Sitwell is glaring at Danny so fiercely that he is certain his hair must be on fire. Coulson on the other hand is just looking at Danny with an eyebrow raised, his expression betraying nothing. The man’s blue eyes are sizing him up in a way that makes Danny shrink away on instinct.

“Williams,” Sitwell says between clenched teeth. The guy has a short fuse, seriously.

“Street, boxing and police academy, sir,” Danny replies as respectfully as he can.

“Kiss ass,” Steve mutters under his breath. Danny, ever the spiteful son of a bitch, stomps down on his foot. When the man tenses and lets out a small grunt of pain, Danny counts it as a victory.

Sitwells eyes narrow even further—and how does he do that and still be able to see—before turning to look at Coulson. The two of them have some sort of silent conversation before Sitwell huffs indignantly and Coulson turns back towards the group.

"Now we’re going to have you all spar one-on-one to demonstrate your personal fighting styles. Don’t hold back, this is part of the evaluation, but you are to avoid causing serious injury,” he informs them ominously.

“Barton, Williams. On the mat,” Sitwell announces.

As Danny steps out he gets his first look at Barton. The man is broad in the shoulders and walks with an almost lazy sort of confidence. His dark blond hair is sticking up at all sorts of odd angles as if he couldn’t be bothered to even comb it. There was something curious about Barton’s eyes, though Danny couldn’t quite figure out what it was.  
  
They both stepped out onto the mat and Barton nodded his head at Danny in good sportsmanship, which Danny returned, and they both took up position on opposite ends of the mat.   
  
“Begin.”   
  
Barton is on him almost before Danny realizes it. He’s startlingly quick for a man of his size, but Danny has superior instinct and experience on his side. As they spar Danny keeps analyzing Barton’s bizarre fighting style. He moves with a strange sort of fluidness; twisting away from blows a split second before they’re able to connect.

They dance around each other, trading blows back and forth, but the attacks Danny is able to land are all more out of luck than anything, which frustrates him. Which is how Danny figures out why Barton is so slippery; he sees it all coming. Every movement Danny tries to make Barton notices immediately and adjusts himself to react accordingly.

Because he can’t think of any better ideas—and because he’s a bit desperate—Danny abandons all thought of training and strategy and just goes all out. He starts throwing punches and kicks at random, looking more like an orangutan in a whiskey house than a professional fighter. Barton stumbles back slightly as he tries to assess the erratic movements, and Danny sees his opening.   
  
Danny drops down and sweeps Barton’s feet out from under him. As Barton falls Danny twists up and swings his elbow in an attempt to connect with Barton’s chin. But the man surprises Danny yet again by catching himself with one hand and somersaulting backwards, just out of Danny’s reach.

Barton lands on his feet, coils the momentum in his legs and, like a goddamn cat, pounces on Danny.

The match is over when he’s lying on his back staring up at the ceiling, panting heavily with Barton straddling him and pressing down on his torso, leaving Danny wondering what in the hell just happened.

Knowing when he’s beaten, Danny holds his hands up in surrender. Barton blinks at him stupidly for a moment before grinning and hopping to his feet. He brushes himself off and then offers Danny a hand up. After Danny’s back up right Barton slaps him firmly on the shoulder, his grin breaking into a smile that’s all teeth.

“That was a good one, Williams. You’ve got some moves.”  
  
Danny huffs a laugh. “Not too shabby yourself. I see what you meant by circus performing.”

“Nicely done,” Coulson notes and Danny doesn’t miss the way Barton beams under the praise. “Return to the line now, please.”   
  
Barton gives a mock salute before heading back and Danny can’t help but chuckle as he walks back to the line.

“You got your ass kicked,” Steve says conversationally.  
  
“Bite me.”

“Just tell me when and where,” he quips and Danny rolls his eyes.

“Abernathy and McGarrett,” Sitwell calls.

Steve looks down at Danny with that smug look still on his face and waggles his eyebrows a couple of times before heading out onto the mat. Steve’s walk is more of a swagger coupled with the sure step of career military and it matches up perfectly with his personality. He and Abernathy take up their positions on either end of the mat, take up a fighting stance and wait.

As Steve prepares himself his body language changes, like he’s flipped some sort of switch. Gone is the joker than had just been standing next to Danny, only to be replaced with the career SEAL Steve claims to be. His face is blank, eyes totally focused, and if Danny is honest with himself, a little terrifying.

“Begin.”  
  
Steve is moving before the word is completely out of Coulson’s mouth. He rushes forward in a blur and bends Abernathy's body into an evil looking contortion in one precise movement.

Danny stands there just as stunned as the rest of the room. Except for Coulson and Sitwell, who just look at the scene with a sense of approval, Sitwell jotting down notes on his clipboard.

After another second Danny just can’t help himself anymore and asks, “So you really are a ninja?”  
  
Steve looks up at Danny from where he has Abernathy pinned and just stares at him uncomprehendingly, blinking a couple of times before his face lights up with amusement. “You already knew that.”

“Well, yeah, but it’s different to actually see it.”

“Commander McGarrett, if you would please be so kind as to release Mr. Abernathy?” Coulson interrupts.

“Oh, yeah,” Steve stammers as if he’s forgotten. “Sorry about that.” He hauls Abernathy to his feet and smiles companionably.

“You alright?” he asks. Abernathy just nods numbly.

“Please return to the line, Commander.”

When Steve’s back standing next to Danny, the shorter man just shakes his head. “You’re not a SEAL. You’re like... some genetically engineered super soldier.”

“Try not to say that too loudly. I may have to kill you,” Steve deadpans with a completely straight face. Danny just glares at him until Steve looks like he’s struggling not to laugh.

The sparring matches continue and only Danny, Steve and Barton are not asked to fight again.

After a hushed conversation Sitwell, Coulson regards the group for a moment before speaking. “That’s all for now, gentlemen. You are all to report to the gun range next door in three hours. Dismissed.”

Since he didn’t work up that much of a sweat, Danny just changes his shirt—all of which are provided by SHIELD for the duration of his stay at HQ—and throws some more deodorant on in the lockerroom. He grabs his phone and wallet from the locker he had chosen and heads out into the training room, where he finds Steve and Barton chatting companionably near the exit.

“Hey, Danny,” Steve says when he notices Danny approaching.

Danny waves. “Hey.”

Barton swoops out in front of Danny with his hand extended. “Clint Barton,” he says cheerily.

“Oh, uh, hi. Danny Williams,” he stutters, taken aback by Clint’s boyish enthusiasm, and grasps his hand, the man’s grip strong and confident.

“And I’m guessing you’ve already met the super ninja freakshow that is Steve?” Danny asks.

Clint chuckles. “Yup.”

“Freakshow?” Steve mutters to himself, looking like a lost puppy, and Danny can’t help but wonder how someone so deadly can manage to look so adorable.

“Hey, anyone who can pin a man in less than a second—a man with exceptional combat skills, as we just saw—without breaking a sweat is either a robot or a freak. I’m just telling you how it is.”

Steve crosses his arms with a petulant expression. “You’re just bitter that Barton knocked you on your ass.”

“Not before I knocked him on his!” Danny shoots back.

Clint bursts out laughing. “You guys are a riot, seriously. How long have you two known each other?”  
  
“Um,” Danny says intelligently, glancing at Steve, “A couple of hours?”

“Really?” Clint asks, surprised. “From the way you two talk I would have guessed you were married or something.” Danny gapes in horror while Steve looks like he’s just won the lottery, his smile is so big.

“Are you kidding?” Steve chuckles. “Who could stand to be in the room with Danny for more than a few minutes, let alone be married to him?”

“My ex-wife would probably agree with you,” Danny mumbles.

Steve gestures dramatically at Danny. “You see?” He implores to Clint.

Clint laughs again. “So, who wants lunch?”

-

Danny eyes the culinary abortion on his tray warily. The three of them are sitting at a table in the mess hall, having just come out of the food line and whatever the SHIELD chefs had defrosted today hardly looked edible.

“What is it?” Danny asks hesitantly.

Steve scoops some of the brown chucks up with his spoon and into his mouth. He chews for a moment, swallows, and smacks his lips.

“Beef tips,” he decides after a moment.

Clint follows suit and nods in agreement. “It’s not so bad. You know, if you can get past the fact that it tastes like death.”

“I like it,” Steve says through a mouthful.  
  
Danny sighs. “Excuse me, Super SEAL, if I don’t trust your judgement. I think you’re just jaded from all the MREs and eating insects to survive.”   
  
Steve considers. “Sugar ants aren’t so bad if you sear them.”

“I ate a cricket once,” Clint adds.

“Okay, you see, there are some things you just shouldn’t say,” Danny complains as he pushes his tray away with his finger, which is when his phone decides to start ringing. He fishes it out of his pocket and groans when the caller ID reads “Rachel”.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Danny asks sharply.

“Danno?” Comes a timid reply.

Danny’s face pulls a one-eighty, lighting up like a Christmas tree. “Hey, Monkey. How’re you doin’?”

“Hi, Danno!” Grace replies happily. “I can’t wait to see you this weekend!” Danny’s chest tightens with uncertainty; he wasn’t sure he would be able to see her this weekend, but he wasn’t ready to crush that hope just yet.

“I can’t wait to see you either, Monkey.”   
  
“But mom said you might not get to come get me this weekend,” she admits sadly. Dammit, Rachel.

“Well, that might be true. But I’m going to try my absolute best to make sure I can see you. And we can do whatever you want,” Danny promises, because he’s not above bribery.

“Really?” Grace asks as if she doesn’t believe him.  
  
“Really.”

“I want ice cream. Lots of ice cream,” she squeals and Danny can just picture her bouncing up and down excitedly.

“Is that all?” Danny laughs.

“With sprinkles!” Grace adds with gusto.

“Well, alright then. Lots of ice cream with sprinkles.”  
  
“Yay! Oh, mom says I need to hang up now and let you work,” she says, suddenly disappointed. Danny feels a familiar anger flicker in his gut but knows not to demand Rachel talk to him. Plus, he’d rather talk to her in person where she can’t avoid speaking to him.

“Alright, Monkey. I’ll see you soon, alright?”

“Alright. I love you, Danno.”  
  
Danny smiles fondly. “Danno loves you too,” and the line goes dead.

Sighing, Danny puts his phone back in his pocket. When he looks back up he sees Clint and Steve watching him with interest.

“What?” He demands.

“Who’s Monkey?” Clint asks at the same time Steve says, “Who’s Danno?”

Danny bites back a frustrated groan. “I was talking to my daughter. Her name is Grace.”

“How old?” Clint asks, a fond look on his face.

“She just turned eight.”

“That’s good. Kids are good.”

“But who’s Danno?” Steve presses.

Danny sighs again. “When Grace was a baby and she tried to say my name all she could manage was ‘Danno’. It stuck.”

“Danno,” Steve drawls, trying it out. He smiles. “I like it.”

Danny snaps his fingers and points at Steve threateningly. “That name is for my daughter to use; try and I will end you.”

Steve has the audacity to smirk. “Oh come on, Danno. Don’t be like that.”

“So,” Clint interjects before Steve can rile Danny up any more, which leaves the shorter man fuming. “You were supposed to see her this weekend?”

Guilt, thick and heavy, settles in Danny’s gut, and his shoulders slump as he deflates. “It was my weekend with her. I only get her four days out of the month but I couldn’t this week because I’m here.” He doesn’t mean for the words to come out as bitter as they do, after all it’s Danny’s own fault that he’s here at all. Try as he might, though, Danny can’t seem to find an answer to one very simple question; why had he decided to come at all?

“You sound like you regret being here,” Clint says gently.

Danny runs a hand over his face. “It’s not that I regret being here, it’s that... Fuck, I don’t know. Ever since my wife and I got divorced, which was brutal and painful for all involved, I’ve just felt sort of...” he trails off, not certain of the right word.

“Lost?” Steve offers.

Danny purses his lips. “Close enough.” He meets Clint’s eyes from across the table. “Why are you here?”

For a moment, the man looks like a deer caught in headlights, and then he frowns. “It’s a long story,” he says softly. “The simple version is that I’m not that great a person. It started when I left the circus. I’ve... hurt people. Good people, just because I was told too, all because... I was just really scared of being left on my own.”

“Told by who?” Steve asks, his eyes dark.

Clint smiles sadly. “My family, if you can call them that. But the moment I wasn’t useful anymore they left me half dead on the side of the road and just drove away. They both just left me.” His eyes glaze over as he replays the memory. With a shake of his head he continues, “Which was how Coulson found me; beaten and broken and bleeding all over myself. Apparently SHIELD had had their eye on me for a while. I woke up here, in SHIELD’s medical wing. When I was finally lucid Coulson came and asked me: if I was able to do one thing, what would it be?”  
  
“And what did you say?”

Rubbing the back of his neck shyly, Clint softly says, “I want to help people.” He says it with such sincerity that Danny suddenly has the suddenly bizarre urge to want to hug him.

“So how’d you get on SHIELD’s radar?” He asks instead.

“Well, like I said, I’ve done some pretty awful things. And also,” he trails off with a nervous laugh. “I’m kind of the world’s greatest marksman, at least that’s what they called me.” Steve laughs, his sour mood vanishing—and seriously, how does he do that?

“Ego much?” Steve asks, grinning.

Clint raises an eyebrow, a wicked smile slowly spreading across his lips. “It’s not an ego. It’s just a fact. I never miss.”

“Bullshit,” Steve says challengingly.   
  
“Is this really my life?” Danny wonders out loud.

“Put up or shut up, McGarrett.”

Pure, unadulterated joy; that’s the only way Danny can think to describe the look on Steve’s face. “What are the stakes?”

“A point system, of course. We’ll have to be general, though, since we don’t know what we’re going to be aiming at. So whoever has the fewest mistakes with whatever they throw at us will win. Danny’ll be judge.”

“What’s that? No, absolutely not,” Danny interjects, feeling put out. “Why would I want anything to do with this lunacy? Do you even hear yourselves?”

But Steve is nodding at Clint in total agreement, not even bothering to glance at Danny. “And what does the winner get?”

Clint goes silent while he thinks, his face scrunching together in mock concentration. “Loser buys the winner a case of beer, brand of their choice.”

Practically vibrating in his seat with excitement, Steve sticks a hand out to Clint. “Deal,” he says, and they shake.

Danny tilts his head back to look up at the ceiling. “How?” He pleads to a higher power, “How is this my life? Where did I go wrong?” With a dramatic sigh, he glares at the both of them. “And the winner shares the spoils with Danny. Period.”   
  
“Sure thing, Danno,” Steve replies with a smirk as Danny struggles not to deck him.

As Clint and Steve continue to banter back and forth with one another, Danny’s thoughts start to wander. The two men in front of him are people he can already comfortably call friends and he can’t help but wonder how that is. They’ve only known one another for a handful of hours and he’s shocked to realize he truststhem. He’d told them about his divorce and his daughter with a second thought, and that was information he usually guarded fiercely. But with Clint and Steve it just sort of slipped out.

Clint’s smile and cheery demeanor belies his obvious abandonment issues and his desperate need for approval. His twisted past is apparently stained with blood, though he regrets it all heavily, and while Danny isn’t sure about him being the world’s greatest marksman, he is completely certain that Clint’s eyes see everything.

And Steve... Well, he doesn’t know what Steve’s deal is. Behind that friendly and confident demeanor are haunted eyes that are full of regret. He offers nothing about himself, and his ability to go from happy-go-lucky to super SEAL in the blink of an eye is more than a little unsettling. Still, Danny gets the sense that he’s just like Clint in that he just really wants to be near people, that Steve is at his best when he has something to protect.

But what’s really surprising is that Danny finds he’s willing to take a bullet for both of them.

Seriously, he’s so screwed.


	2. Chapter 2

Danny spent the rest of his free time wandering around the facility to familiarize himself with it, and eventually find himself on the recreational floor—yeah, floor. Rooms for racket ball, ping pong, two movie lounges, and even a room dedicated to video games. It’s a nice spread and it makes sense; spies need a place to unwind too.

He still wasn’t sure what exactly Sitwell saw in him when he’d given Danny his card. Sure, Danny has an impeccable record as a detective, but he has no experience in any branch of military, and the only real combat experience he has is shootouts with suspects, and those are few and far between.

He hadn’t stopped to consider what a position here might due to his time with Grace. He saw too little of her as it stands and he doesn’t think he could handle it if that time was cut down any further.

Shaking those thoughts off for now, he decides to head to the floor where the living quarters are. Danny had been assigned a room for the duration of his stay, and if he past his assessments—and afterwards qualifications—he would be assigned a permanent living quarter. He doubted he would use such a space all that often; he has no intention of bringing Grace down here for any reason, so Danny will more than likely be keeping his apartment.

Stepping out of the elevator, he can’t help but be reminded of a hotel. He was standing in what could pass as a lobby minus the reception desk; it was just a large room with chairs and couches and a flat screen TV hanging on the wall.

A communal area, how quaint. Danny can’t help but be impressed; SHIELD seems to spare no expense when it comes to keeping its agents comfortable.

Branching away from the room were hallways line with doors and room numbers, with electronic locks on the handles. He’d been informed that all rooms used palm-scanning and also required an electronic key card to gain entry into the room. Danny fishes the card he had been given out of his pocket, reads the number on it, and takes off down one of the hallways.

He follows the numbers on the doors until he comes up on his. He eyes the palm reader dubiously for a few seconds, wondering what would happen if his palm was rejected, because, in all honestly, he just wasn’t in the mood to be tazed—or worse.

Slowly, he presses his palm against the smooth black surface next to the door, flinching when it beeps and flashes green—though he’ll never admit to being startled. He slips the key card into the slot on the door followed by a click as the door unlocks. He pushes it open and stands just outside the threshold.

The room is small, consisting of a single twin bed off to one corner with a desk and chair in another. At the foot of the bed there is a small dresser with three drawers. On the far side of the room is a door that leads into what Danny assumes is the bathroom.  The walls are a dull blue-grey, same as the carpets which are a few shades darker. There are two light fixtures built into the ceiling that light the room evenly in a soft white glow.

All in all: really freaking depressing. The room is cold and clinical; how anyone could stand to stay in here like this for more than a few minutes is totally beyond him. Then again, Danny’s not certain what exactly he’d been expecting, but he was certain he’d only be in this room when he was sleeping and for nothing else.

Sighing—he seems to do that a lot these days—Danny steps back and closes the door.

“Pretty awful, isn’t it?” someone says.

“Jesus!” He yelps, spinning around.

The woman standing behind him is on the shorter side, with long blond hair that’s pulled back into a ponytail, wearing a white tank top and blue jeans.

“Don’t sneak up on people like that, seriously. Clear your throat or wear a bell or something.”

She has the audacity to look amused. “More than half the people in this building are trained for stealth espionage. Better get used to it, if you plan on sticking around.”

“Yes, thank you, everyone’s a super spy, I was able to figure that one out all on my own. Where the hell did you come from anyway?”

She crosses her arms and shifts her weight to one leg, “I live here,” she drawls, nodding her head over her shoulder. “My quarters are up the hall. I saw a strange man lurking in a doorway, I decided to come and check things out.”

“You . . . you are not right in the head,” Danny says bluntly.

“I’m Bobbi, Bobbi Morse,” she says with a laugh.

Danny scowls at her before replying. “Danny Williams,” he says a bit irritatedly.

"Sorry for sneaking, I just like to meet the new guys. It’s always fun to try and figure out who’s gonna stick around and who’s gonna get the boot.”

He grunts. “That obvious I’m a newbie?”

Bobbi gives him a knowing look. “No one likes the temp rooms. They’re awful. More like prison cells.”

He has to give her that one. “No kidding.”

The smile she gives him this time is friendly. “So you’re in the same group as Clint, right?”

“You know Clint?” He asks curiously.

“Yeah, he’s been here a while.”

Danny frowns. “How long is a while?”

She stops and thinks about it, her face scrunching up a bit. “Almost a year, I think.”

His brain short circuits for a few seconds. “A year? He’s been here a year? He said he was hurt, but he  didn’t say it was that bad. And he’s just now taking his assessments?”

Bobbi suddenly looks unsure, as if she’s said something she regrets. “You really should ask him. The details are really his story. But . . . well, let’s just say he was more than hurt.”

Danny doesn’t know how to respond to that, and also doesn’t know what to do with this bizarre protective instinct that he has towards Clint. He already has enough to deal with and the last thing he needs to do is add more fuel to the fire.

An awkward silence settles between them.

“Where you headed?” Bobbi asks finally, trying to break the tension.

Danny stares at her until his brain catches up and registers her question. “Gun range.”

She smirks suddenly and takes a step back to get a better look at Danny, sizing him up. Her eyes are almost as sharp as Clint’s, and it’s making him really uncomfortable.

“I don’t know if I appreciate you objectifying me.”

Bobbi snorts. A moment later she smiles wickedly and says, “Personel, I’m betting.”

Danny stares at her blankly, waiting for her to continue. When she doesn’t, he gestures at her with his hands impatiently. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing. Nothing at all,” she says ominously, crossing her arms behind her back, balancing on the balls of her feet. He throws his hands up in defeat.

Bobbi laughs hysterically. “Wow, you’re easy to get a rise out of. You need to relax, guy. You’ll never make it around here if you don’t.” Danny isn’t sure what pisses him off more, the fact that she’s making fun of him or the fact that she’s laughing about it in his face.

She starts to leave. “Gotta go. See you later, Danny.”

“Is everyone in SHIELD as crazy as you?” He calls after her.

"You bet your ass!” She yells back.

“That’s fantastic, really it is,” Danny gripes, but Bobbi is already gone.

Growling, he fishes his phone out of his pocket to check the time, finding he still has nearly two hours before he’s expected on the range. He’s planning on heading down early to try and catch Coulson to explain this little competition that Clint and Steve have going on and, despite himself, he’s actually looking forward to it. A little bit. Maybe. But he’ll never admit it.

-

In the end he doesn’t have too.

Both Clint and Steve apparently had  the same idea Danny does about wanting to speak with Coulson before the assessments starts. When Danny sees them lingering in front the door he scowls, which makes Steve smirk at Clint like he’s saying I told you so. Clint gives him a really pathetic look like he’s just really let Clint down.

With a sigh, Clint hands Steve a twenty dollar bill.

“You took bets on whether or not I’d be here? Really? We’ve known each other for only a handful of hours and you’re already taking wagers. Do you really think you know me that well?” Clint at least has the good grace to look guilty but Steve just rolls his eyes.

“You’re not exactly difficult to figure out, Danno,” he says as if Danny is being unreasonable.

“First of all, we’ve already talked about you calling me that; don’t. And second, I’ll have you know that I am a very complex and enigmatic individual-”  
  
Steve raises an eyebrow.

“-when I want to be,” Danny finishes, crossing his arms and raising his chin defiantly.

“To be fair, Danny,” Clint says, “You solve murders for a living and worship the ground your daughter walks on. If someone like you is a bad person the rest of us are pretty much fucked.”

“I hate you both,” he complains, running a hand through his hair.

Steve claps him on the shoulder and nods his head. “No you don’t, Danno,” he says seriously and Danny really, really wants to punch him.

It must have shown on his face because Steve grins.

-

Coulson, as it turns out, is a pretty cool guy. Scary, but cool.

“So you’re asking if you can use my gun range for a competition?” Coulson asks, his face giving away nothing.

Clint nods enthusiastically, “Got it in one, Phi-” Coulson’s eyes dart over to Clint, eyebrow raised.  “-agent Coulson,” he corrects, his back straightening.

“And why should I allow this?”

Danny decides to take the initiative. “Because they’re both twelve years old,” he says happily.

“Danny-” Steve starts to whine.

“You, no, do not say words. When you speak my life becomes just that much more difficult,” Danny scorns and Steve’s mouth snaps shut—much to Danny’s surprise, but he won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. He might have imagined it, but he could have sworn he saw the corner of Coulson’s mouth twitch.

Ignoring Steve’s kicked puppy look, Danny continues. “You see, agent Coulson, sir, in the very, very short time I have known these two . . . people, I have learned that they both have issues of inadequacy.” Danny doesn’t acknowledge the howls of protest. “So, it is my opinion that it is in the best interest of, quite literally, everyone to just let them decide who has the bigger dick right now, lest they actually do blow something up. Don’t think of it as a competition so much as it is . . . damage control.”

Danny begins to question his bluntness when Coulson doesn’t immediately say anything, his eyes just going back and forth between the three of them.

“He called us ‘people’,” Clint mummers after the silence had stretched on for a while.  
  
“Right?” He agrees and turns to Danny. “I gotta say, Danno. I’m not feeling the love.”

“I’m sorry, what was that? Love, you say? No, McGarretttt, there is no love. The Williams’ are not so easily wooed.”

“Is that so?”  
  
“Yes, Steven. It is.”  
  
“Well then, I’ll just have to try harder,” he says with a wink and Clint snickers.

Danny definitely isn’t blushing. Williams men do not blush.

“Okay,” Coulson says suddenly.  
  
Steve’s face lights up. “Sir?” He asks hopefully.  
  
Rather than respond, Coulson walks over to the door that leads into the gun range and swipes a card through an electronic scanner. There is a ping and a click as the door unlocks and he holds it open for them.

When none of them move Coulson says, “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

“No, sir,” Steve clips out.

“Phil, you’re my favorite,” Clint says as he walks by.

“I’ll be sure to let agent Morse know you think so,” Coulson replies.  
  
When Clint trips over his own feet and looks back at Coulson in horror, Danny laughs. “Go to hell, Danny,” he grumbles, sounding pathetic.

“Already there, babe.”

-

“So, how were you expecting to test yourselves, gentlemen?” Coulson inquires, facing them with his hands held in front of him.

“Sir?” Clint asks, confused.

“You didn’t set the stakes for the winner?”

Clint’s brows furrow a bit more, his confusion growing. “We were just going to judge based on how well we did with the tasks you were going to assign.”

One of Coulson’s eyebrows raises slightly. “I sent agent Morse to inform you three that we didn’t need to attend this assessment.”

“What?” Both Steve and Clint echo at the same time Danny says, “That bitch.”

All eyes focus on Danny.

Danny shrugs. “Yeah. She found me up on the residential floor. We had a . . . chat. She didn’t mention anything about this, though.”

“Sounds like something she would do,” Clint says to Coulson who  sighs inaudibly, his shoulders rising and falling slightly.

Steve, bless him, is standing there looking like a lost kid who isn’t sure if he should say anything.

Danny pats him on the back. “I’ll explain later, babe.” Steve nods, still looking unsure, but also visibly relaxes.   
  
Turning back to Coulson, Danny asks, “So why are we exempt, sir?”

“Because your skills in this regard are not in question. We’re well aware of what you each are capable of.”

“What does that mean?” Steve asks.

“We only assess recruits on the skill sets we lack data on.”  
  
“No, I got that part, but how can you know, exactly?” And the smile that Danny is starting to recognize is back, the one you can only see if you’re looking for it.  
  
“How about I explain after your competition? No reason to spoil the fun.”

Danny is beginning to get really frustrated with this place. He’s never heard of any branch of government or military being run with such lax attitudes towards following orders. If it had been him, Danny would have tracked down Morse and chewed her out first thing. Or maybe he’s just bitter that she pulled one over on him. His reaction is the same either way—goddamn spies.

On the flip side, he hasn’t exactly been acting particularly professional today either, so he probably doesn’t have any room to judge. Danny makes a note to ask Coulson about the state of things later.

“Alright, alright. I’m judging, apparently, so I’ll decide. You guys’ve got all the good stuff, right? Moving targets and the like?”  
  
Coulson nods.

Danny claps his hands together. “Okay, then. I’m honestly not interested in this taking forever and as the lunch served today was totally inedible, I intend to actually go and get some proper food.” He turns to Steve and Clint. “Six targets; one stationary, five moving. Your weapons will be Glock 22s.” His eyes flick over to Coulson for confirmation, who nods again. “You will be judged on speed, accuracy, and style.”  
  
Steve frowns a bit. “Style?”  
  
“Yes, Steven. Style. Impress me.”

He huffs and crosses his arms. “That’s not fair. Clint is from the circus.”  
  
Clint smirks. “If you’re not up to the task, McGarretttt—”

Steve’s frown turns into a scowl. “Go to hell, Barton. I’m gonna kick your ass either way.”

“Put up or shut up, man.”

While they continue to argue, Coulson walks over to a door on in the middle of the room. It, like all the other secure areas in the facility, had an electronic lock with a palm scanner and key card slot, in addition to a security code panel. Coulson went through the motions of opening the door with practiced ease: such a simple task had no right looking so badass. The room ended up being the armory; it was lined with locked cages, filled with various types of pistols, rifles and . . . were those bows?

Clint peeks around the corner, his face lighting up. “So this is where you’ve been keeping my bow.”

Coulson shakes his head. “I’ll remind you, Barton, that they are SHEILD property.”   
  
“Who else is going to use them?” Clint huffs.

Not bothering to reply, Coulson unlocks one of the cages and pulls out two Glock 22s and a plastic case containing several magazines.

“Why do you use a bow?” Steve asks, mockingly. “A real weapon too much for you?”

Clint actually looks offended. “Don’t mock the classics, man. I can fuck you up with an arrow before you’d even be able to draw your gun.”

As Steve opens his mouth Danny snaps his fingers. “No, Steven. We are not putting that to the test.”   
  
Steve glares but doesn’t respond.

Clint looks back and forth between them before grinning. “So whipped,” he laughs causing Steve to punch him in the arm. “Jeez,” he breathes, rubbing his bicep. “No sense of humor.”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Danny says, pointedly not reading too much into this conversation.

“Will a standard ten ring target do?” Coulson asks, stepping up to a console of some sort.

“Should,” he replies.

Coulson fiddles with the controls on the console and the lights on the gun range proper light up and Danny realizes just how large the space actually is. ‘Range’ and ‘gallery’ don’t really do it justice, but it’s also too small to use anything else to describe it. From the start of the lanes to the edge of the back wall has to be at least a hundred and fifty feet.

Danny’s impressed, but at this point he’s way beyond being surprised.

Steve apparently isn’t.

“This is awesome. You guys really do have all the good toys.”

Without replying, Coulson flicks a few more switches. The far side of the room begins to hum ominously just before the back wall starts glowing a pale orange.

“What the hell is that?” Danny asks.

“Electronic detection. The field will record all data a paper target would provide. With this we can adjust the setting to anything.” By way of demonstration, the wall is suddenly replaced by a beach looking out over a vast blue ocean.

“Oh,” Steve says, stunned. “Wow.” His tone draws Danny’s attention. He is totally and completely focused on the image, his eyes wide, a look of longing painting his features. Danny’s not sure what that expression means, exactly. After a moment, though, Steve’s face goes completely blank, his fists clenching at his sides, making Danny feel like he’s intruding on something private.

“Why can’t you just tell it like it is, Phil?” Clint says, snapping Steve out of whatever trance he was in. He notices Danny watch him and for a split second their eyes meet before Steve turns away, looking embarrassed.

“It’s a hologram,” Clint finishes.

Schooling himself, Steve asks, “Hologram? Like in movies?”  
  
“Close enough,” Coulson says. “It was developed by Stark Industries and modified to suit our purposes.”  
  
Danny’s gaze lingers on Steve for a second longer before speaking. “Let’s just get this over with, yeah?”  
  
Clint salutes sarcastically. “Aye, aye! First mate, Philip! Release the hounds!” He orders with gusto, and it takes all of Danny’s self restraint to not slap him upside the head.  
  
Coulson stares at Clint blankly. “First mate? Hardly.”

“Why shouldn’t you be first mate?” Clint challenges.   
  
“I’m your superior.”

Danny can’t believe they’re actually having this conversation.

“What-? No! Not to me. You’re Danny’s first mate!”

“Excuse me?” Danny says dumbly.

Coulson’s eyes flick over to Danny before returning to look at Clint. “Either way, you should not be  giving me orders.”

Clint deflates a little. “Wait, you mean you mind taking orders from me but not Danny?”

Somewhere in the middle of the banter Steve had moved to stand next to danny. He was standing straight, his hands behind his back, looking straight ahead.

“So, they’re fighting over you,” he observes conversationally.

“Everyone in this entire freaking facility is out of their minds. Every single one of you,” Danny says, massaging his temples.

Steve has the nerve to look affronted. “Me? What did I do?”

“I can see it in your eyes. You’re like a kid, only you’re a giant and can kill me with a paper napkin.” The other man opens his mouth to protest but then stops to consider Danny’s words. After thinking it over for a bit,  Steve half shrugs and nods, conceding to Danny’s reasoning.

“Point taken,” he says without guile.

“Hey! Can we please get this over with?” Danny half-shouts.  
  
“Don’t interrupt me, Danny!” Clint barks angrily, but there is no heat behind it.  
  
Danny rushes up into his face anyway, poking him in the chest harshly. “I am here against my will for the sake of your ego, not mine. Shut the hell up!”

Clint just stares at him with wide eyes. Danny gazes at him with hard eyes for a moment longer before turning on his heel sharply and pointing at Steve. “You, get a goddamn gun and shoot the freaking targets.” He rounds to look a Coulson, who is has his eyebrow raised challengingly. “. . . First mate Coulson, please queue up the stationary target,” he finishes respectfully.

Coulson glances at Clint, his lips twitching. “Feel free to call me Phil, sir,” he says, tapping away at the controls.  
  
“Now you’re just trying to bug me,” Clint mutters.  
  
“Hey. Zip it,” Danny scorns. Clint glares but doesn’t respond.

Steve steps up to the lane, gun in hand. “Don’t forget ear protection.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Danny dismisses, already passing plugs to both Coulson and Clint.

“Go,” Steve says, and the competition starts.

-

Danny’s eyes dart back and forth between the two of them, his face scrunched in concentration. He’s going over everything he just saw and he has come to a couple of conclusions. One, that both of these men are terrifying.

And two:

“Clint wins.”

Clint throws his hands in the air with a hearty, “Yes!”

“Why?” Steve asks, outraged.

He can’t help but smile at what Danny is quickly beginning to describe as his ‘aneurysm face’. “You got the skills, babe, but not the style. Clint held the gun upside down and fired with his pinky. How the recoil didn’t fuck up his hand, I don’t even want to know.”

“Style doesn’t matter in a combat situation!”

“You’re just ticked that this carny kicked your ass,” Clint says with a huge smile, causing Steve to shoot a glare in his direction.

“I’m going to need the room now, gentleman,” Coulson says.

Steve snaps to attention and salutes, turning on his heel to leave. Clint throws a wave over his shoulder, still bickering with Steve as the doors close behind them.

Danny starts to follow then stops.

“Oh, sir. You said you’d explain why we didn’t need firearm assessment.”

Coulson puts his hands in his pockets. “Yes, I did, didn’t I? It’s simple enough. Barton is unmatched and doesn’t miss.”  
  
Danny nods. “He said that you guys had been watching him for a while.”  
  
“Yes, we had been,” Coulson replies without hesitation, which throws Danny off. He’d been expecting Coulson to sidestep the question. “We’ve watched him since we first became aware of him when he was a teenager. His accuracy, for lack of better word, superhuman, and this remains true with any weapon he is handed, with previous training or not. The finer details are for him to tell, but suffice to say we lost track of him for nearly a decade after he left the circus.”  
  
Danny stands there, eyes narrowed as he processes, until something clicks into place. “That’s how you found him.”

Coulson raises an eyebrow.  
  
“Whatever happened to get him so hurt. That’s how you found him again.”  
  
An expression passes over Coulson’s face so quickly that Danny’s not sure if he didn’t just imagine it. Was that. . .regret?

But the man seems to shrug it off quickly as he continues speaking, “As for Commander McGarrett, well. Let’s just say his service record is more than outstanding.”

Danny snorts. “I’m starting to think he’s Captain America reincarnated.”

“Nothing like that, I’m certain. Again, the finer details are for him to tell.”  
  
“Yeah, I get that,” Danny agrees. “And what about me?”

“You don’t know?” Coulson asks curiously.  
  
“Not a clue.”

Coulson looks at him for a long, calculating moment, as if he’s trying to figure Danny out. He eventually says, with a friendly smile, “We aren’t interested in your combat skills, detective Williams, though they are a plus.”

“I don’t get your meaning.”

“I think it’s a better idea if you figure it out on your own,” he says cryptically.

Danny shrugs, throwing his hands up dramatically. “Again with the mystery. What is it with you people? Is a straight answer really so much to ask for?”

Chuckling, Coulson replies, “I’ve given you several straight answers.”

“And that’s another thing: why is everyone around here so relaxed? How does anything ever get accomplished around here?”

“How indeed?” He asks, his tone wistful.

“Oh, for the love of— no, you know what? Fine. Keep your secrets. I don’t care,” He rants, storming off.

“For the record, detective,” Coulson calls so that he catches Danny’s attention. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t deserve to be.”

Confused but not willing to show it, Danny just nods and leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well if I wasn't sure it was crack before, I definitely am now. Despite my best efforts I just couldn't get this chapter to a place I was happy with. :(

**Author's Note:**

> Update 10/2015: As I continued to try and further the two, I kept finding that I couldn't make it go in a direction I was satisfied with. As a result, the fic on hiatus until I can figure out what to do with it.


End file.
